


fire flames

by Pinktoria



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (boy do i fucking love crytype), (jeremy), (jeremy)), (michael), Angst, Comforting, Crying, Fluff and Angst, GIVE ME SOFT PAN BOY, Hurt/Comfort, ITS NOT MENTIONED BUT JEREMY IS PAN, Kinda, Kinda?, M/M, MILD - Freeform, Pansexual Jeremy Heere, Post-Canon, Post-Squip, Self-Hatred, Self-Indulgent, a mild panic attack imean, as most of my fics are, best friends?, boyf riend in jeremys case i guess, gay?, happy 4 am jeremy, jeremy and micahel are, jeremy has mild ptsd from the squip thx, jeremys cardigan is a comfort object u cant tell me otherwise, just guys being dudes, michael ran all the way to jeremys house, one of those, or both because your boyfriend can be your best friend, overuse of crytype, random humor mixed in there, souper gay, the squip is a binch, this fic is pure self indulgence, welcome to Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 14:30:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11579973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinktoria/pseuds/Pinktoria
Summary: He would alleviate the hate and self-pity the only way he knew how. He coughed, his throat raw and aching along with his chest.“Everything about me is just terrible.” He pushed out.[So, so terrible.] The Squip added, solemnly.Jeremy wakes up at 4 am, for seemingly no reason. As his best friend, it's Michael's duty to make him feel better.





	fire flames

**Author's Note:**

> WAH E Y
> 
> whats this ""finishing your other fics before you post new ones"" business  
> title from https://soundcloud.com/omahafire/fire-flames
> 
>  
> 
> thx @ kbit 4 betaing

Jeremy awoke with a soft yawn. He was cold, despite the blanket covering him (though what else was new). The room was unnaturally dark for 6:45 in the morning, which is exactly what led him to believe it was not 6:45 in the morning. Shivering just a bit, he twisted in his bed to check his alarm clock. The red characters glowed in the darkness, informing him that it was 4:42, almost two hours to when he usually woke up for school.

So, what had roused him? Something had, obviously. He usually didn’t wake up until 6:45, when he was forced to get out of bed due to certain… conditioning. No alarm necessary.

He gave a muted huff, feeling his chest rise and fall quickly, and stilled himself so he could listen close to the peaceful dark. There was the ambient noises of his old house, though he was used to that and it wouldn’t have woken him. There was also his dad, quietly snoring away in his own room. That, however, didn’t normally wake him, either.

It was now that Jeremy was starting to notice a dull aching feeling in his chest. He felt his throat tighten. Though he was still slightly groggy, this ache was familiar. He’d gotten it every now and then before, but ever since The Play (the two words were always capitalized in his head now, like some important war), he’d started to get it more often and it had started hurting more and more. It grew in strength each time it reared itself, and by now it was so, so strong. It hurt.

He stared into the blank, inky room again, pushing his alarm clock around on the nightstand so he didn’t have to see the bright red numbering in the dim light of the (far too) early morning.

Jeremy raised his hand to his mouth as he yawned, mostly out of reflex, and contemplated himself laying there in bed at nearly 5 am. He felt so small.

In the back of his head, he heard the Squip inform him that he was. Ah, yes, the Squip. It had been about a month since The Play, and the supercomputer’s fizzling voice was starting to return. The Mountain Dew Red was apparently wearing off. Despite how much he tried to tell himself the loudest voice in his head was his own, the Squip’s was growing louder. He could feel the ghosts of electrical shocks crawl up his back and fizzle over his wrists.

Just the memories hurt.

This train of thought always brought him along other train of thought stations. Even though the Squip Squad (real original, Rich) seemed to have all formed a better bond, Jeremy couldn’t help but wonder how much they hated him. He’d almost enslaved (was enslaved the right word? Maybe the Squip just wanted a lot of friends, who knows) the entire school, they had every right to hate him. And yet, every day, they hung around him. They sat down at his and Michael’s previously empty lunch table and talked and joked and laughed together. And they were letting him be part of it.

Why?

He loathed himself for doing what he did. Why didn’t they?

He didn’t want the Squip to come back. He did such terrible things, to everyone. To the Squip Squad. To Michael.

Michael.

He’d abandoned Michael that Halloween night. And for what? A girl that he didn’t even end up going out with. After not even a full week of dating, he and Christine had decided they were better off as friends.

“Get out of my way, loser.” Echoed his own words in his head. An image of Michael’s face flashed in his mind, the look of absolute betrayal after Jeremy had said what he said. And then, his way his expression dropped into something resigned as he stepped aside, Jeremy’s glare on him.

He never wanted to hurt Michael like that. Ever again, period.

So he steeled himself. He forced words out of his mouth, voice hoarse and throat raw in the early morning: “It is not coming back.”

 _[Don’t be sure,]_ The Squip whispered, muffled and weak in the darkest recesses of his mind.

His breath hitched, but the voice did not speak up again. Even so, he could feel his breathing speeding up, his chest constricting. The ache worsened and his ears rang.

Sleepily, he slapped his hand down on his nightstand and patted around until he felt his phone. He pressed it on and hurriedly typed out a couple of mistake-filled texts, sending them to the only person he knew he could.

 

4:56 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: um h;ey  
4:57 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: miichael do yobu think. Y;ou can come over

5:04 am | imgoingtomellforthis: is something wrong jerebear?

 

Fuck. Did he wake Michael up? Sorry, buddy.

He paused to contemplate his current situation. He just wanted his bed to swallow him up in the blankets again. He was cold. Yes. Something was undeniably wrong. If he told Michael, he’d probably understand. But telling him meant he had to know how to articulate it to him, which he most certainly could not.

 

5:07 am | imgoingtomellforthis: jeremy?

5:07 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: no y,eah uhh  
5:08 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: s,,orrryy  
5:08 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: i kknow its a terrible tim e i jjust  
5:08 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: do ,you thikn you ccan come o ver  
5:09 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: and bringf rred

5:09 am | imgoingtomellforthis: hey hey its alright  
5:09 am | imgoingtomellforthis: ill be over in like 15 w/ some mtndr ok?

5:09 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: ok

 

He paused again, this time to think. Then, after a pensive moment, he tacked on another couple of quick messages.

 

5:10 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: ssorry ffor texxtin g this late  
5:11 am | imheereimqueerimfulloffear: thankss dued

 

When Michael didn’t immediately respond, Jeremy figured he was just ignoring him out of annoyance. That, or he was already on his way over. And now, he was making Michael come over to his house at 5 am. Wow, what a stellar friend he was.

He slowly returned his phone to the nightstand, next to his alarm clock, and curled himself up into a distraught ball of sweat (ew) and panic. He pulled his knees up against his already constricted chest, only making it harder on himself. But he felt safer like that. His eyes threatened to push havy tears over the floodgates onto his cheeks, but he wasn’t going to let them. He felt so pathetic. Don’t cry over this.

 _[Move on.]_ The Squip, alongside his own voice, told him.

‘I can’t,’ he insisted, as if it were a good reason. It didn’t stop him from feeling pathetic, though.

Jeremy curled up smaller, swallowing hard. His eyes were wet. Why were they wet? Fuck, he was crying. With a trembling fist, he reached up and rubbed the wetness away. Don’t cry. Why couldn’t he just wait for Michael to get here?

He would alleviate the hate and self-pity the only way he knew how. He coughed, his throat raw and aching along with his chest.

“Everything about me is just terrible.” He pushed out.

 _[So, so terrible.]_ The Squip added, solemnly. Jeremy could almost see it shaking it's head in disappointment.

“Everything about me makes me wanna die.” He broke into a miserable sob, unable to choke back the tears anymore.

_[As it should.]_

Sobbing, he repeated his little mantra for a while. He didn’t know how long he laid there, curled up with his blanket half falling off of him. He was trembling, though he couldn’t tell if it was from panicking or if he was cold. Not that he was paying attention to that in the first place, he was a little busy putting himself down.

“E-everything about me is just-”

When he heard a tentative knock at his door, he flinched in surprise. Another sob wrung its way free of his tight throat, tumbling out of his mouth and being followed up by a gasp. Tears dropped from his eyes, rolling down his cheeks.

“Jeremy?” Michael’s baffled, familiar voice interjected.

‘Fuck.’ Jeremy thought. He swallowed his tears for a moment, raising his head to look at Michael, who was standing hesitantly in his doorway with a bottle of Mountain Dew Red in his hand.

Michael slowly approached him, looking worried. Jeremy averted his gaze. He couldn’t meet his best friend’s eyes. Not like this.

“Hey, Miah, come on…” The bed shifted weight. Michael had sat down next to him. Jeremy curled up more firmly.

_[You’re pathetic. Look how much you made him worry. And for what? So he can hear you whine about how it’s ‘all your fault’ again? Pathetic.]_

“I’m sorry. F-fuck, I’m s-sorry, Mikey, I-I didn’t… y-you don’t have t-to…” He couldn’t find the right words, so he shut his mouth.

“Hey, no, Jeremy… look, I brought the Red. Everything’s gonna be okay. Come here.” Michael’s voice was low, but it was warm and welcoming. Just how it always was. Jeremy wordlessly pushed himself up from the bed, still aching and quivering, and practically threw himself at Michael.

Michael gave a low grunt, but he wrapped his arms around Jeremy’s middle. Jeremy desperately curled into his short-statured best friend, burying his face in his hair. “Yeah. That’s right, Jerebear, just let it out. It’s okay.” He rubbed faint circles into Jeremy's upper back.

_[You’re pathetic. You don’t deserve his comfort. He’s too good for you. He hates you. You ruined everything good you had with him for some girl that you didn’t even end up going out with. He hates you.]_

Ever since The Play, Michael adamantly insisted that everything between them was fine. He smiled and acted happy for Jeremy, but it didn’t make him feel any better because he knew it was all an act. He knew Michael was hurt, maybe even broken. He knew his best friend.

But he wouldn’t tell Jeremy. He clammed up when the subject was brought up. He changed the subject, sent a faux grin Jeremy’s way. Jeremy wanted so badly for everything to just be okay and go back to normal, but it hurt, because he knew they couldn’t just force it to be.

Jeremy choked on a harsh sob and Michael rubbed tender circles into his back, rocking him back and forth. “Let it out. It’s okay.”

“‘M… s-sorry,” He managed to mumble breathlessly, grasping at the back of Michael’s hoodie. Michael shushed him, patting his back, but he continued. “Mikey, I’m so s-sorry…”

“For what, Jere? There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“H-Halloween,” he sputtered pitifully. Underneath him, he felt Michael tense up. “I-I didn’t… I…”

Michael started patting his back again, forcing himself to relax. “It’s… not okay.” Jeremy sobbed. “But… but I’m ready to try and f-forgive you… I think.”

“Why?” Jeremy asked, voice cracking.

“Why? ‘Cause you’re… my best friend.” Michael murmured.

It hurt because he knew he was the one who caused Michael to break.

When he started to sob harder, Michael hugged him tighter, voice panicked. “Hey, hey, Miah, come on, it’s okay. What’s wrong? Did I say something… not good? Please, buddy, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I-it's not you!” Jeremy spluttered, shaking his head frantically and grasping at the back of Michael’s hoodie. “N… never you. J-just… it’s…”

His friend started to soothingly rock them both. Back and forth, rhythmically. Jeremy’s guilt felt like a white-hot fire, burning him from the inside out. He didn’t know if he could take this. He didn’t deserve Michael, for sure.

“You don’t have to talk. We can just sit here for a while.” Came a dulcet whisper, in his ear. Jeremy winced, but nodded, face still buried in the other’s shoulder.

Michael started to rub his back again, still gently rocking them back and forth. He whispered to Jeremy, little nothings that were incoherent to him in his current state.

Eventually, his sobbing trailed off into silence. Michael didn’t stop rocking them, thankfully, but he fell silent, too. The wordless whispers were still echoing in Jeremy’s ears when Michael started to ask him something.

_[I’m sure he thinks you’re a burden. Look how tired he is. You woke him up at five in the morning for this?]_

“Uh, sorry, I-I—what?” He stammered.

Michael smiled patiently. “It’s alright, Miah. I asked if you were doing better.”

“Oh. Y-yeah, a little.” He nodded weakly. “Thank you, Michael. You’re the b-best.”

“Of course, dude.” The aforementioned best shot him a fond grin. “We’re best friends. What are friends for?”

Jeremy let the words take a moment to slowly sink in. It didn’t feel right, but he doesn’t know which words would. He shifted his position on Michael’s lap, trying to get comfortable, and ended up with a knee on either side of Michael’s hips. Michael made a clipped noise under his weight, but didn’t protest, so Jeremy rested his head on his Player 2’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms loosely around Michael’s middle and desperately clutched at the back of his hoodie.

“What are friends for.” He repeated, though it was less like a question and more like a confirmation. Michael laughed, just hugging him closer.

Under his breath, Jeremy laughed, too. His, however, was a wry laugh. He didn’t know what he was bitter about, he just knew that he was.

He was startled again with a whisper in his ear. “Do you know what, uh, caused this? Other than the… you know.”

Uncomfortably against the other’s shoulder, he shook his head and breathed a sigh. “I just, um, woke up? I guess? And…” Something in his head wanted him to mention the ache. He ignored that something, just shaking his head again and gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “I dunno. Sorry.”

Michael patted his back. The movement was pleasantly familiar. Jeremy always found solace in his best friend. Was that weird? To look to his Player 2 for comfort and support? Probably.

“Do you, uh, need the Red?” Michael nodded at the bottle, abandoned on Jeremy’s bed. He nodded slowly, then watched as his friend picked up the bottle and unscrewed the lid for him.

Warily, he took the soda from Michael and took a sip. Then, shakily, he shoved it back into Michael’s hands—they both knew what was coming next.

An overwhelming pain washed over him. Jeremy couldn’t help the scream that went tumbling past his lips. Involuntarily, he started to curl into Michael, who just tightened his hold and started to rock them again as Jeremy shuddered through the pain. He only vaguely felt him capping the soda and setting it aside.

Eventually, his scream died down. His neighbors were going to call fucking 911.

“How you doin’, Jerebear?” Came Michael’s voice. His chest rumbled against Jeremy when he spoke. It was nice.

“U-u-uh…” He stuttered. At least there wasn’t an overpowering presence in his head anymore. “Better.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Jeremy pulled backward from Michael and studied him. Michael stared back at him with a clueless half smile. He crumpled back when he felt a fuzzy feeling in his chest.

Though he still felt kind of cold, he was no longer shaking (however, whatever had caused it still remained a secret to him) or in tremendous amounts of pain. Reluctantly, he edged off of Michael’s lap (not that he was enjoying it, no sirree, he wasn’t burning the feeling of sitting like that on top of Michael’s lap like that into his mind at all) and stood up from the bed.

Spotting his navy blue cardigan on the floor where he had thrown it when he went to sleep, he picked it up and slipped it on. The sweater had become of like a comfort item for him, and it made him feel better just to wear it.

Michael opened his arms again once he had gotten it on, but Jeremy shook his head and sat down beside him on the bed. He was still trying to rid himself of that fuzzy feeling. Michael shrugged and flopped down on the bed. “So, you’re better now?”

“A little.” Jeremy said, like before, and dropped himself beside Michael and a huff. “Sorry for making you come over at like, what, 5 am?”

Next to him, his friend shrugged again and fished his phone out of his pocket. “5:28, now, actually.”

“That.” He propped himself on his elbow, laying on his side to look at Michael.

“I don’t care, dude, you know that. I just don’t want you to have to deal with that shit alone, you know?” He sent Jeremy a grin. It made his blood run cold. He made Michael deal with that shit alone.

Unthinkingly, Jeremy said it again. “I’m sorry.”

Michael laughed and shook his head, pushing down on Jeremy’s head and smothering him in a pillow. “Go to sleep, dork. It’s all good.”

“Ow, dude!” Jeremy snickered. “Quit!”

When he only relented, Jeremy reached up and batted his hand away. He gave Michael a glare and Michael glared back before breaking out in a grin. “Lighten up, Miah, and go to sleep.”

“Fine… are you staying?”

Michael’s expression went blank. “It’s 5 am and you expect me to walk home after, like, running here?”

“Well, actually, it’s probably around 5:30 now.” He mumbled, a smile tugging at his lips. Michael shoved him.

“Shut up and go to sleep!” A pillow hit Jeremy in the face.

Laughing, the taller nodded and pulled the blanket up over them. He rolled onto his stomach and rested his cheek on the pillow, moderately sprawling out. He stayed awake for a long while, thinking.

He was glad to have Michael in his life. He was lucky to have Michael in his life. Michael was radiant. Like the sun. Warm like the sun, too. He could feel Michael in bed next to him. While Jeremy was a cold person, Michael was warm. They balanced each other out. Jeremy liked to think they were a perfect pair. Maybe they were, maybe they weren’t.

“I think we are.”

Was Michael psychic? Had said so before? If he did, Jeremy didn’t remember.

“No, dummy. You’re saying all that shit out loud.”

Oh.

“Yeah.” Michael laughed awkwardly, fidgeting next to him.

Jeremy buried his face into his pillow, Officially Humiliated. Was he really so tired that he didn’t even realize he was talking out loud. “Fuck.”

Beside him, he felt Michael shake with another silent laugh. Jeremy slapped him and Michael slapped him back. “It’s all good, dude. Seriously.”

“Didn’t mean to say any of that,” Jeremy elaborated on his previous response, “ignore it.”

“Well, uh. I mean, thanks!” The shorter of the two blurted, and Jeremy couldn’t help his own giggle at how stiff Michael sounded.

“You’re welcome?” He tried, bemused. Then, hurriedly, “I mean, uh, sorry for saying all that.”

“At least it was all good stuff.” Michael mumbled, rolling in place.

They fell into a comfortable silence again. Jeremy kept lying there and thinking (making sure he wasn’t repeating every thought that flickered through his mind like an idiot) and Michael kept lying and doing whatever he was doing (maybe sleeping? He honestly couldn’t tell).

After about 15 minutes, just as Jeremy was starting to fall asleep, a soft arm was wrapped around his waist. He jolted, locking up in place.

“Miah,” Michael murmured, drawing out the last syllable. He was half asleep.

“U-u-um, yeah?”

“... love you.”

Jeremy couldn’t help the warmth crawling over his neck and his face. He supposed he couldn’t suppress it anymore, not now; he was crushing on his best friend of 12 years, his Player 2, Michael Mell. But Michael’s ‘I love you’ couldn’t have been anything more than platonic. He knew his best friend was gay (who didn’t), but he couldn’t have feelings for Jeremy. Not him.

But Jeremy felt like he could indulge himself. He’d repressed that swelling feeling in his chest he felt whenever he was around Michael for too long. Right now, he felt like he had to indulge himself before he, like, exploded. Or something. So he did.

He twisted slightly to lean into Michael. He buried his face in Michael’s chest (‘Warm’, he couldn’t help but think) and simply smiled when Michael pulled him closer. The overpowering but somehow comforting scent of Doritos and Crystal Pepsi filled his nose, but he didn’t care because the smell was distinctly Michael.

“I love you, too.” He whispered back, because he was indulging himself, remember?

Michael hummed happily, his chest rumbling against Jeremy in that way that made butterflies flutter around in his stomach. He leaned back to plant a messy kiss on Jeremy’s forehead. Seemingly proud of the drowsy peck, he nodded to himself and returned to his former position.

“G’night, Jere.” He sighed.

Face burning hot, he nodded and nuzzled into Michael. They could talk about these gay feelings in the morning. He figured it was about time to go to sleep.

“Goodnight, Mikey.” He said back.

**Author's Note:**

> was it gay? hope it was gay
> 
> maybe ill make a second chapter where they work out the gay but who knows, i have like 0 motivation for anything  
> if youd like to see that maybe tell me in the comments?
> 
> if u enjoyed the fic maybe u should drop me a (; follow (; on the ol (; tungle (charamandern00dles)  
> a good amount of what i post on there is bmc  
> (yes, this is shameless self-promotion)


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